


Clairvoyant

by pennameisblank



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, Master of Death Harry, Not Beta Read, Not Serious, alternate hp ending, standalone chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennameisblank/pseuds/pennameisblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Percy, Frank, and Hazel went to free Thanatos, they never expected to come across someone else. Someone who was neither a god, a titan, a monster, nor a giant. MoD-not-demigod!Harry.Oneshot. Snippets from SoN through MoA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will either stay a oneshot, or a series of oneshots when I have the call.

When Percy, Hazel, and Frank went to free Death, they never expected to come across someone else.

Well, someone who wasn’t a monster trying to eat them, anyway.

But it was true. Every single being they had encountered since their departure from New Rome was either _di immortals_ or a deity, minor, major, and everything else in between. But the man currently perching on top of an overstuffed chair (Percy doesn’t even want to know how it got there) didn’t radiate the feel of the gods and didn’t stink of monsters, and was currently holding a conversation with the captive God of Death.

Or, at least, was shouting and yelling at the bound Death, while the god himself merely sat still, seemingly at ease.

The trio climbed up the rest of the trek up the tip of the iceberg (and if Frank wasn’t afraid of sliding down to the churning Arctic, _somehow_ , then he’s a god) and finally gets a clear view of the man.

His black hair was tangled haphazardly as if forever tousled by a breeze, and his skin was fair even against the snow, so that was saying something, which set off his brilliant green eyes. Percy had never seen eyes so like chips of gems; on the risk of sounding nerdie, he’d say like elven beryls from Lord of the Rings, different from his—and every descendant of Poseidon’s— sea green. Other than his long, black cloak that was whipping around him making shimmering patterns, and the man appeared to have no discomfort hanging around on a piece of iceberg with plain white shirt and whitewashed jeans.

“—next time you pull something like this, see if I care—”

“Mas—”

“That’s Harry to you, bloody idiot,” the man cut the god off. “I don’t care about your little tiff with Gaea, or Terra, or whatever it is between Romans and Greeks. You’re making me do extra work for nothing at all! Why, if Hela—”

Frank dipped his head down to hide his mouth. “Think he’s gone off the rocker?”

Percy squinted. “Hmm, no. At least, don’t think so.”

“Hazel?”

The daughter of Pluto eyed the man warily. “He seems to know what he’s talking about, if understating a bit.”

“Little tiff with Gaea?” Percy said wryly, and they all knew that if it wasn’t so very probable and tied so very closely to their own lives then they’d probably roll around in laughter. “And he’s British,” Percy added.

His two companions eyed him with unanimous look of ‘and that matters how?’

“Hey, he sounded like that detective guy on BBC!” Percy protested.

“I know my accent is gorgeous, but could you please keep it down? Sleeping giant there.”

The three jumped, Percy automatically swinging Riptide and Frank readying himself while Hazel backed down to the rear automatically. She had no Arion, and was compared to Percy no spectacular swordfighter.

The man brought a thin silver rapier which Percy could’ve sworn wasn’t there up to block Percy’s swift strike. “Whoa, chill. I’ll just wrap things up a bit and then you can have Thany to yourselves.”

“Thany?” Frank’s jaw was hanging quite unattractively, so Hazel smacked his head down until his upper teeth ground down his lower ones in a painful _clack_.

The man gestured to the bound god watching the proceeding with blank eyes. Percy could’ve listed a great many things about this man that was unsettling him, but near the top of the list was making the God of Death’s eyes crinkle in amusement. _That_ was something he could live without.

“You know, Thanatos. I thought you were Greeks… or at least you,” the mysterious man pointed at Percy with his rapier. “But I digress—go ahead and free him.”

Frank hesitated. “You’re not going to do it?” In his opinion, someone who could freely yell at a god—the Death God no less—was bound to be powerful. It will save them a whole Tartarus of problems.

“Nah,” the man waved a hand dismissively. “I can’t interfere, at this point… but an advice, Frank Zhang,” the man’s eyes flashed a poisonous, sickly green before reverting back to the warm jade, “sometimes sacrifices doesn’t necessarily mean losses.”

“That’s my line, Maste—”

“If you know what’s good for you Thany you’ll kindly shut the hell up!” the man barked back at the god. “Don’t forget that this whole mess started with you sleeping on duty!”

Hazel really didn’t know what to say for that, so she didn’t say anything.

The death god visibly sighed. “Now, child of Mars, will you do your duty or not?”

Frank gulped.

The man chuckled, which made Hazel want to spear him with his spatha, technicality aside—Frank’s life was not something to laugh at. “Who are you anyway?” She finally asked, withdrawing her spatha. She wasn’t really good with her sword—not without Arion—but it’ll have to do. They’ll manage, just as they always do.

The man’s so very green eyes turned to her, and Hazel felt as if she was stripped down to her soul. The next moment, the cheerful indifference face was back and he sniggered. “Way above your pay grade, little demigod.”

“And how do you know about us anyway?” Frank demanded, eyes leaving the chained god.

“Oh please,” the man waved dismissively. Frank got a feeling that he was used to dismissing people out of his presence. “Practically the whole mythical world is aware of you Greeks, and Romans, and your little quests and Primordials—that’s what you call them, right?—and everything. You lot could really use some common sense—and that includes you, Thany, don’t think you’re off the hook yet!” the man finished with another point at Death God. “So, if you’re going to continue your quest, I’ll leave a bit help—” the man waved at the massive, glittering, slumbering form of the giant, sending a streak of purple light at the giant—“and if you can get those buried weapons down the ice for your little camp, good for you.”

“Wait!” Hazel called as the man made to turn away from them. “I thought you can’t interfere?”

The man winked. “A little present for getting Thany out of his mess.” And then he disappeared without a god’s customary glow.

The God of Death grumbled. “Now, these chains…”

 

* * *

 

If Piper didn’t know better, she’d say the mysterious man was a sorcerer, the likes of Circe who liked to turn the opposite gender into hamsters from Percy’s stories. Poryphorion was asleep the whole time, gripping Twelfth Legion’s golden eagle standard like a baby under a spell. However, since she still has all her normal organs, it must’ve been something else.

Frank had tried stabbing the giant, but the pierced skin of gems quickly regenerated back. Then he’d transformed into a giant of an elephant—which made Percy steam with jealousy—and pushed the slumbering giant past Alaska borders, thus finishing the giant off.

Percy had jumped off the cliff (and made Hazel shriek like a girl) before announcing that there are tons of Imperial gold under the ice. He brought a chariot up and Hazel called Arion, and then Percy and Frank transported as many weapons as they can up the ice and into the chariot.

 

* * *

 

“This will probably sound weird,” Percy started, and Frank and Hazel snorted. “But I think we may have… outside factors in this war.”

They were still feasting their victory and the return of their standard, but Reyna insisted on hearing the firsthand account of their quest to Alaska before they were distracted by the partying.

Reyna frowned. “Outside, as in beside us, Greeks, gods, and Titans?”

Hazel nodded. “He didn’t identify himself as a god, and he didn’t feel like a monster, and he definitely didn’t look like a titan…”

“…but he did say he was ‘above our pay grade’,” Frank finished.

Reyna’s frown deepened. “An unknown. What does he look like?”

“Now that I think of it, he kind of look like Thanatos,” Percy admitted. “The whole pale, black, tall thing.”

“Pale, black?”

Percy shrugged. “You get what I mean.” Frank and Hazel snickered.

“So what did he do?”

“That’s what’s weird,” Percy elaborated. “He didn’t do anything.”

“What?”

Frank nodded. “He was just talking to Thanatos when we arrived. Didn’t even try to free the chains,” he grumbled, still a bit put out.

“More like yelling,” Hazel corrected wryly. “Yelling at the death god about screwing up during duty.”

“A higher god, then,” Reyna concluded.

“The thing is,” Percy rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “he could disappear like a god, but without the whole flashing-and-burning-mortals thing. Though he did say he can’t interfere.”

“Yet,” Hazel reminded him.

“This is getting weirder and weirder,” Reyna groaned. “I’d say he’s another deity of some kind we’re not aware of, though judging by his disposition towards dealing with your quest and his actions, I’d say he’s not enemy.”

“But we didn’t know if he’s an ally,” Frank concluded grimly. “At least we can count on him not sabotaging our future quests, if he wanted Thanatos to be freed.”

Great. An unknown deity tied to Death God.

“We can’t do anything now,” Reyna sighed. “Let’s just keep a lookout.”

 

* * *

 

Neither Percy, Frank, nor Hazel ever met the strange man again during their trip on Argus II to Rome. As in, Italy. They hadn’t told anyone—there wasn’t really time for that, in between the mess with Eidolons, the Romans on their tails, and various side-quests they really could do without.

That was why, when Percy caught Annabeth being pulled down the pit to Tartarus and fully prepared himself (mentally at least, since all they had was the clothes on their back and Riptide in his pocket) for a field trip across Tartarus and met the black-haired man, this time with a set of wings of pure black feathers not unlike Thanatos’, he was considerably surprised.

“So we meet again, little demigod. And you brought a new friend with you,” the man said with great humor, eyes twinkling in the darkness of the pit. Somehow, his voice carried through the wind whipping around them, and the blood pounding in Percy’s ears.

Instinctively, Percy tightened his grip around Annabeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Paying a little someone a visit long due,” the man answered. “And you can call me Harry.”

If they weren’t falling through the deepest pit in existence and risk losing his eyeballs, Percy would’ve rolled his eyes. “Great. Call me Percy, and this is Annabeth, my girlfriend.”

“Strange choice for a date,” the man said, lips twitching. “I know who you are, little demigod, but that doesn’t explain you taking a trip down my favorite hellhole.”

Percy chose to ignore the little ribbing (and Annabeth tugging rather painfully at his hair) and pointed at the thick strand of spider silk twining around Annabeth’s ankle.

“Ah, Arachne,” the man sighed. “Unpleasant little lady. Still, that is out of my jurisdiction, so I can’t give you any gifts.”

“Your jurisdiction?”

“You’re not mentioned in any mythology,” Annabeth interrupted, and Percy glanced to see his girlfriend pinning Harry with a piercing grey stare. “Or any that I knew of, and I knew a lot.”

Harry nodded sagely. “That is because I, little demigod, am never part of mythology,” he winked, and then there was a pause before his wings beat powerfully, and he hurtled down before them.

“I could’ve sworn he didn’t have wings,” Percy murmured.

“What did you say?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because I love Nico, I have to add this little chapter. Speaking of which, I am receiving prompts until BoO is released! ;9

Jason thinks that Nico di Angelo was a very misunderstood child.

So okay, he was born way before Jason’s mother was born (because honestly comparing anything with Jupiter was just _cruel_ as no one could ever compare to the biggest ancient jerk in the universe that was his father), but still, he was physically, and mentally, fourteen years old. His time at Lotus Hotel didn’t really allow for developments on either part. Thus, he felt justified for feeling like a protective older brother.

Even if it was only a one-sided thing.

Oh Hades (and look at him, cursing in Greek god names), who was he kidding? Nico didn’t give anyone the time of the day, except perhaps his sister from his father’s counterpart… and that sounded wrong. He was moody ninety percent of the daytime and could be found brooding during the night half.

Except when Percy Jackson was there.

Nico actually paid attention to Poseidon’s son—and dammit, Jason knew that Percy was just like that, so goddamn likeable, so reliable, reassuring, and funny, and he’s a good swordsman (and let’s pretend he still has his manly pride after admitting feelings like a lovesick teenage schoolgirl for Perseus-fucking-Jackson) and generally just being his perfect self—but he digressed.

It wasn’t big, but it was there, and Percy—Percy didn’t even notice Nico’s little hero-worship (because Jason refused sail into dangerous waters, pun intended), still supporting everyone but the one who needed it the most, in Jason’s opinion. Annabeth was perfectly capable—she wasn’t the one being locked up in a jar for days with only pomegranate seeds to munch upon like hamsters, but still Percy was so eager to go to her rescue. After rescuing Nico from his jar, that was a bit too insensitive even for Jason’s standard (and Piper often hounded him for having no tact when it came to women).

When did it come to women again?

Ah, yes, since Eros decided to rib Nico into admitting to fancying Annabeth (or was that Percy?) from their twisted talk about Percy and Annabeth until the son of Hades was just a hairline’s crack from murdering the god, immortality aside.

When Eros started playing back Nico’s memories for their pleasure (which is cruel, in Jason’s opinion, but since when gods care?) however, there was a shadow growing in the room before Eros stepped back, and his cruel narration of unfortunate events in Nico’s life stopped after Nico’s sister Bianca’s untimely death.

“I know you are there,” the God of Love murmured, red lips stressed into a thin line.

“You know I am here,” a voice agreed from the shadows, and emerged a man.

Jason’s first thought was that they could’ve been twins.

And his second thought was mortification over the fact that he had checked the man out enough to see he could be Eros’ twin. They had the same dark hair, the finely sculpted features, and while Cupid’s face was hard, unforgiving, the man’s face was softer, almost boyish.

And let’s not forget Cupid’s red eyes, red like spilled blood. The man’s eyes were like sparkling emeralds, and he could almost see the little light in the chamber reflected in those nonexistent facets... except if the man was some bizarre god-insect hybrid.

“Ah,” Eros sighed. “State your business, Master of Death.”

“I am no master of death,” the man corrected automatically, as if people—or gods—referring to him as the master of death was a regular occurrence. “But yes, you are withholding someone I need to converse with.”

Almost reluctantly, the god nodded. “Very well then. Go, Nico di Angelo. You can have the scepter, but be warned—summon them you can, but controlling them is another thing altogether.” With that, he threw a scepter to Nico, and the son of Hades caught it deftly, still staring confusedly at the two beings in front of them. When Eros started to flash however, both of them pointedly closed their eyes.

At the last moment though, Jason could’ve sworn the man rolled his eyes at the god.

 

* * *

 

“Nico di Angelo,” the man murmured quietly, watching them through half-lidded eyes. In Jason’s private opinion, the man sounded too nonchalant and disinterested to be actually true. “I am here because you are to be, no, already an important part of this quest to restore the balance in this world.”

Nico was still shaking a bit, though Jason can’t tell if it’s from mortification over having his crush (almost) outed, never mind Jason didn’t actually make the conclusion, or over anger at Eros’ insensitive prodding. So Jason answered for him.

“Who are you that the balance of this world is in any way your business?”

The man chuckled, his wings rustling. “Who do I look like to you, Jason Grace?”

“Uh, Eros. Cupid.”

Nico chose that time to come back to society… or present company. His brows furrowed. “You’re not Thanatos, are you?”

“Letus?” Jason frowned.

“My father’s lieutenant looks like Eros,” Nico explained curtly.

“Death is the more merciful between Love and Life,” the man recited, amusement curling his lips.

“Now you’re emulating Eros,” Jason grumbled. “Who are you?”

The man winked. “Above your paygrade, little demigod.” Then suddenly his face grew somber and serious. “Now, Nico di Angelo. You are not part of the prophesized seven, yet you are already part of their quest.”

“I was simply tagging along since they rescued me,” Nico replied, and if Jason thought it was a tad too defensive, well, he’s not going to be the one pointing that out. He had no desire to alienate the boy further.

“That you did,” the man agreed amicably. “But still, you do realize that without your help, they would actually be unable to find their way to your father’s house on time?”

Nico crossed his arms in front of his chest. Ah, defensive gesture, Jason thought absently. “Why are you telling me this?” The fourteen-year-old demanded.

“Just letting you know that you’re doing me a favor, son of Hades. After all, promise or no, you’ve helped me out more than you know, and will eventually solve Thanatos’ mess. Of course, I already helped your lost friend out when he freed Thany, but well… there’s this door I can’t really mess with…”

Jason thought there was pain in Nico’s eyes as the man mentioned the promise to Percy. Promise to not look for a way to aid them in Tartarus and instead, find their way to the other side of the Doors of Death. That was a bit of sore point for their group; Nico helped them, true, but he didn’t really talk about it to anyone, only giving out the bare necessities. Jason knew none of their group really cared if Nico was the son of one of the moodiest gods in existence (right up there with Zeus and Poseidon), but Nico’s attitude wasn’t helping any. It’s like if it’s not Percy he promised to, he won’t even lift a finger for them.

Well, that’s not exactly true, Jason mused. After all, there’s still Hazel, and Nico definitely didn’t want Gaea ruling Olympus. She’d probably crush demigods to smithereens, since they’re the sons and daughters of the upstart sons and daughters of Kronos, and indirectly responsible for the end of Titanomachy.

“We’re closing the Doors of Death once Percy gets out of Tartarus,” Nico answered, steel edging his voice. “And Annabeth.”

Whoa, Jason inwardly jumped.

“I know,” the man nodded, examining his nails. They were painted a dark red, almost like the smoldering coals of the hearth, with patterns of black fire. If the colors weren’t so dark and the patterns so cool, Jason would’ve thought it a very gay nail work. “That’s why I intervened Eros, the meddlesome bugger,” he cheerfully added. “He’s much too like his mother, but his temperament so like Ares. Yet again, he _is_ the god of the most fickle emotion there is. Compared to him, Thanatos is an angel.”

The man’s black wings shifted and edged forward, as if in agreement.

Jason wasn’t following the conversation very much. Something about closing the doors once Percy got out, and Annabeth. How did it tie to him, stopping Eros’ cruel playback? Except if there’s something really disturbing that Nico had committed in the past, but Jason was positive they could all go through it. After all, they made interesting mistakes too.

“Thank you for stopping him,” Nico said stiffly, eyes glazed, and for a moment Jason feared the boy would cry. Damn, his mood swings could rival a woman, and seeing as he’s dating Piper McLean, a daughter of Aphrodite, that was saying something. According to his friends’ various encounter with the goddess, she was like a compass stuck to multiple magnets.

“The fates have never been kind to you, Nico di Angelo,” the man said softly. “This shouldn’t have been your burden to bear.”

Nico pretended not to hear him.

“I see you do not think so,” a laugh. “Come hither, child.”

Nico looked outraged, scandalized for all twenty seconds before he relented and shuffled forward an arm’s length from the man.

“You can call me Harry,” the man intoned, looking into Nico’s eyes as if seeking for something. From his part, Nico looked confused, anxious, and embarrassed all rolled into one.

It seemed like such a common, paltry name for one obviously of considerable power, master of death or no, but it held some feeling of ironic romanticism; a name of human king, for someone who looked all human but was probably anything but. If one neglects his black wings, “Harry” could pass for a regular 20-year-old-guy-next-door everybody meet after breakfast. Handsome, yes, striking too, but regular. He was even dressed in black skinny jeans and green dress shirt like a guy out for a relaxation night.

Finally, the man seemed to have found whatever he was looking for, for he then leaned forward, whispering something that so obviously unsettles Nico, judging from the tensing of his shoulders and clenched fists. Jason reined in the urge to blast the man with lightning; it probably wouldn’t even nick the guy.

The man tapped Nico’s temple once, with his index finger, and then Nico slumped forward. Harry readily caught and steadied him.

“What did you do to him?” Jason asked warily, fingers crackling with electricity.

“Taking something that was weighing him down,” Harry answered, carding a finger through Nico’s dark hair like one would a kitten. “You know, I was there when he was born; he was such a cute little baby.”

“Wha?” Jason stupidly gaped.

“Yes, he used to be such a sweet boy. I reckon your friend Percy would know, too. And speaking of Percy, he won’t bother Nico anymore.”

“What do you mean? Since when did Percy bother Nico—I mean, beyond the whole promises thing?”

The man looked at him with green, green eyes, and Jason suddenly could see the years passing by this man-shaped being, lives came and gone, acquaintances made and broken, empires built and destroyed. “Oh, they are tied. They are tied so very close, by broken promises and new ones, hatred and love, guilt and gratitude. I only borrowed some, until he could bear it again.”

What Jason caught from that rather short monologue was—Nico and Percy has a pretty complicated relationship. And thus what the man had lifted off of Nico.

“You’re changing his relation to Percy,” Jason accused the man archly.

“Not exactly. Just Nico’s perceived relationship. After all, if it wasn’t reciprocated, what are feelings? There is none to be lost.”

It took a few seconds for the words to register in Jason’s brain, and then he went into such a shock he was momentarily frozen. Harry smiled apologetically and pointed a finger at him.

 _“Obliviate”_.

He saw darkness.

 

* * *

 

When he came to, he was already aboard Argo II, and vaguely felt as if he had forgotten something important. It left a strange taste in his mouth, and he blinked awake, aware of his companions peering worriedly down at him. He felt the mattress under his body, and the pillow supporting his head, and realized that he must be in one of the cabins.

“Where is Nico?”

“He woke up before you,” Piper answered. “He’s… I don’t know, taking a bath? He seems… different.”

Jason felt a flash of something niggling at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t catch it, and felt more frustrated than ever. “Hmm.”

“Jason, what happened? Nico won’t tell us anything, except he got the scepter.”

Scepter. Eros. And then… Harry.

“We met a strange man… he calls himself Harry.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah. He got Eros to go away, and then said Nico had done him a favor.”

“A minor god?”

“Eros called him… what? I forgot,” Jason frowned. “But… if he was a god, I don’t think he’s a minor one,” Jason continued. It completely slipped his mind how him forgetting Harry’s title so easily was out of his usual habits.

“Grace, there you are,” Nico peeked from the door. “Since we have the scepter…”

Then, the name Harry completely vanished from their minds.

 

* * *

 

“You look as ugly as ever,” the black haired man stated, as easily as one say ‘the weather is good’.

There was a deep, dark chuckle, and for a moment the scenery seemed to move, squirming and wiggling with the sound. “Come here and let me send you… inside me,” a figure appeared out of thin air, as if the rancid, poisonous air of the pit and the vile soil twisted to form the ghastly visage.

The black haired man dodged a swipe at his face with a bored tilt of his head. “Good luck with that. But more importantly….”

“I know they are coming,” Tartarus hissed, his form fluidly growing to a full 6’7”, towering over the shorter man. “After all, it is my dear Gaea’s machinations that sent them to my arms.” Arms of sickly black soil solidified, until the flesh was covered with black armor, and a scythe of black steel formed in the right hand.

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger,” Harry exclaimed, hopping backwards and avoiding Tartarus’ brutal swing at his torso.

“You can tell them that we are going to win,” Tartarus answered, his voice gurgling even as veins of rivers materialized in his arm, crystalized like a trail of glass shards. “There is no need for you to go back there, Master of Death,” he continued, voice sickly sweet tenor. If Harry was a choir boy, he might’ve swooned. “You are going to keep me company for many, many years to come,” the personification of the pit advanced upon the man.

Harry gulped. “This is getting out of hand,” he murmured, withdrawing his wings. Shame; he had liked that. Plus, it gave the demigods all the wrong ideas about him and Thanatos and Eros… point, it was fun.

“On the contrary,” Tartarus all but purred, “everything is under my control.”

“That’s what I call out of hand,” Harry answered flippantly, drawing his long-unused wand. It was made of dark wood, the texture not as smooth as modern, newer wands; it was gnarled and the grain often dug into his palm, but it was the most powerful magical foci he had ever encountered… and that was saying something.

“No matter,” Tartarus shrugged, a very humanlike gesture that for a moment, in place of the form of the Primordial, Harry saw a middle-aged, handsome man in battle gear. “Now, come….”

“Like hell,” Harry retorted cheekily, shooting off a stream of stunners. At the same time, he pictured his cabin in the woods, keeping up his aim of the dodging Primordial. When Tartarus side-stepped a particularly wide stunner, he spun on the spot, disappearing with a crack.

“Say hi to the demigods for me!”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to ww1990ww at ffn for suggesting multidimensional!MoD!Harry. Truthfully I was just going to wing it on how to mesh the Norse, Greek, Roman, and every other pantheon in between like a massive lump of deities in one world, but, well, dimension-traveling Harry is cool. The fact that this fixes that particular plot hole is a little bonus *wink wink.

Harry appeared exactly where he wanted to be; inside his cabin in the woods of the Forest of Dean, beside his nightstand. He huffed and made himself comfortable on his bed.

“Stupid primordial… stupid demigods… stupid gods…”

This dimension is… weird, to say the least. He’d visited several planes of existence coexisting in the same timeline, and they all turned differently.

One, of course, was his original world; where Wizarding Britain was home to stupid politicians. He was only glad to be away, if only temporarily. After all, sooner or later he’d have to come back where he came from, back to where his roots lay and finally greet Death.

If only various ‘Death’s haven’t stared up at him in the face.

There was Thanatos, or Letus, in this world. Death doesn’t really differ to Greeks and Romans, so anytime Harry visited him, he was pretty much coherent of every time they spent together.

And gods that sounded so wrong.

There was Hela, daughter of Loki. She was a pretty timid goddess, for all intents and purposes. However, there was hell to pay when Loki killed copious amounts of mortals at their Midgard-slash-Earth in a fit of jealousy, and caused a traffic jam at the bridge between Niflheim and the mortal world.

Hela wasn’t the sole deity who reigned over death and rebirth in that world, however, as there were other powerful, nearly immortal races. So powerful they could commandeer wounds closed, age reversed, and death undone. It was all with appropriate prices, of course.

He was keeping a very tight tab on those few beings, one of the reasons he couldn’t really leave Hela’s world for too long. He was forever playing hide-and-seek with them; they were ages older than he, with infinitely longer experience in toeing the line between Life and Death. Usually, he had to resort to infiltrating their realms to remind them of their very slim mortality.

He sighed wistfully, remembering the good times when Loki was just that cheerfully sarcastic (and bitter), witty trickster intent on pranking everyone. Loki would sometimes accompany him, slipping through Heimdall’s watch by way of the thin veils in between worlds and watch him knock some arrogant asshat deity a peg or a few hundred, not participating only because of his vow to Allfather to not incite conflict with other realms.

But it doesn’t matter… because now, Death in this universe is in jeopardy.

Hela didn’t take well to him taking off—it was one hell lot of a work in her universe, one that couldn’t in good conscience be covered by one person. The fact that Hela technically had done it for so long before he came along was wilfully ignored.

“Now how the hell do I fix this…?”

For all he knew, he just had to wait The Second Great Prophecy out. After all, not even Oracles are supposed to know of his existence; he was technically not even a factor. His very existence was outside of the gift of prophesy. If he meddled too much, got his hands too wet, it might make things far too complicated, with too many borderline immortal deities clamoring for power at the same time.

However, he recognized that this is the turning point of this society; whether humans will bow down to primordial powers just like in their ancient times, or triumph and advance forward. No matter if the majority of the population was ignorant of it.

It might just be in his interest to tip the favor for the humans; he had no desire to see deities running amok and making chaos that he had to fix later on, especially since Thanatos was not exactly in good favor with the primordial. He was a son of two primordial, yes, but he worked for Hades, who toppled the titans… and this tiring chain of hatred continues.

He sighed.

He was only in this business for a couple hundred of years, and yet he was already tired of it.

To be fair, there are people who would thrive in his position; he was, after all, essentially nigh untouchable, and he knew some people *cough Voldemort cough* got off on power plays and words destined to flay the skin of lesser mortals.

He could talk the talk, walk the walk and kill the kill, but not with pleasure, and it’s one damning characteristic that, according to Hela, was precisely why _he_ was the Master of Death and not someone like Laufey, or even Odin. They wanted power; they lavished in it, and luxuriated around it. Odin might say that he was a good king (and to a degree, he was), but he still clung to his power with all his considerable might.

Someone born to power would just never cut it, Hela said, unintentionally (or intentionally) jabbed at her paternal grandfather.

He countered with saying “my magical core was bigger even when I was a baby,” something he was fairly sure of. After all, he _had_ to have a head start somewhere, if he was that much more powerful than ordinary wizard was.

She just looked at him with an expression eerily similar to Hermione’s when he asked something so obvious.

He vowed to get a week-long vacation when all this nonsense is over.

He’s not getting paid as is.

 

* * *

 

<.:a randomly imagined scene at BoO:.>

“The blood of Olympus shall awaken me. Percy Jackson, say goodbye to your dear friends.”

Dear gods, Gaea was uglier than he’d ever imagined. Then again, he never intentionally imagines Mother Earth; he was quite content to stomp on her dirt-y and soil-y mug. Her face was like crags and boulders, and he was fairly sure there used to be cow dung pit there.

But his feelings were right. He needed not interfere; they had managed to quite nicely shut the Doors of Me (as Thanatos liked to say, the incorrigible prick) and prevented (more) hordes of monsters of nightmares from unleashing on Earth. He could just imagine the chaos if that were to happen; like a morbid TV show, he’d say, since he’s technically beyond their reach. He could just abandon this universe; there were a few more in the making of this timeline, and one universe is certainly not important in the Ultra Massive Scheme of Things.

But he liked Thanatos (though he’d rather eat his own eyeballs on a rusty fork before admitting it) and, dare he say it, the demigods here. At least, demigods of 21st century. He certainly do not like Hercules, Theseus, and those no brainer heroes who thinks they’re the center of the world.

And that destroyed universe will look bad on his CV.

Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that his pride won’t allow it. Hey, this is one of his universes. He’s certain that somewhere in UK was his mother-but-not-mother and not-quite-his-father together, and even ickle Harrykins in the picture. He couldn’t very well let himself die, could he?

And while he was busy monologuing in his mind (and since he’s beyond this world, it is officially a supernatural word), Gaea had advanced upon a tied down Percy, with the usual villainous dramatic entrance. There was a black athame (like in those witch movies, how cool) in her earthy grip, and was that worms?

Uh, back to the topic.

It seems like intervention is in order… or not.

If he remembered correctly, Gaea will be awakened, Percy or no, so….

He’ll just settle for keeping the Hero of Olympus alive. After all, it’s still within his realm of powers… he’s just not supposed to be doing it. Or pay a hefty price.

Well, slumbering Mother Earth back into her dingy little hole was certainly hefty enough payment.

Even if it’s not him paying it, the shift of power will unsettle the balance enough that it wouldn’t (probably) cause anything bigger than a monsoon, compared to the inevitable catastrophe that is awakening and returning Gaea back to sleep. Not to mention all the giants… and all the monsters… and Tartarus was still agitated… and all the gods concentrating their firepower on Greece. Not to diss demogids or what, but comparing their raw power to even a minor god is no brainer. The only reason demigods can overcome those annoying, pesky little power hungry war mongering gods is that a majority of them were nuttier than a walnut tree full of monkeys.

If Greece survives through this intact, and above the sea level, he’ll worship Aegean soil.

He concentrated his willpower on keeping Percy alive as Gaea tore through Percy’s orange camp shirt (that is surprisingly still intact after Tartarus and all the monsters and gods… that is another thing worth worshipping) with her clawlike nails, and started scribbling bloody letters on Percy’s torso.

That would’ve been a gruesome sight, except Harry was quite desensitized by all the wars and murders and human cruelty. Primordial beings, in comparison, were tame, though painful to be sure. They just never had the drive to be creative, unlike humans, in order to achieve as much pain as painfully possible.

Wizarding World in that aspect was the same, since a simple spell could break men and women alike.

Now to wait for Gaea to fully awaken…

He pulled out a random book from a pocket space in his pants.

 

* * *

 

Keeping Percy alive took some energy—especially since Gaea insisted on repeatedly stabbing the poor demigod, so much that Harry thought it merciful to just let Percy die… but he can’t. He couldn’t, yet, anyway, since it was inevitable that Percy would die… Everyone does.

So while Gaea was getting frustrated with Percy coming back to life time after time, he gave one of the demigods a little compulsion to begin the assault, when Gaea was still releasing her pent up frustrations on Percy (not even realizing that she could be doing it without the athame). That made him sounds cruel, true, but what can he say.... He just couldn’t concern himself with a single tree (or human) when he had an entire biome (or biosphere) to watch over. And he really should cut down on his biology.

He was even careful to not let his powers directly influencing the demigod (whom likely was a son of Ares, or Mars, whichever), so that the only thing directly tied to him was Percy coming back to life. Repeatedly.

He just caused a fish in a kingfisher’s throat to flap around, and the bird promptly went down to the rocky cliff, taking down some of the cliff wall and splashing an ill-tempered hermit crab, that clamped its vicious pincers on a poor unsuspecting surfer, whose surfing board went sailing through the air and landed on a brass scale, prompting the contents (gutted eel) to disappear magically as things were wont to do… and smacking the Ares/Mars kid on the head.

“What the f#$@ man!” the boy swore floridly, brandishing his claymore like a war hammer and it flickered before shifted into a mean-looking club.

Ah. One of Mars’ toys.

The boy swung his mighty club and it went sailing, nailing an unsuspecting (or rather, unprepared. They must’ve admitted to themselves that they’re going to get clubbed a few times to win the war) dracaena. The snake-dragon’s face was promptly severed from her body, which wiggled around without a coordinating head.

He whistled.

And regretted it, because suddenly Gaea’s attention shifted to him, her ghastly façade twisted in a furious cry.

“MASTER OF DEATH!”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short, but my life currently resembles a bloody train wreck... uggh

Pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

Considering he’d once nearly drowned in the Styx, that is indeed saying something—but the pain was different. With the Styx, it was like being pulled in all directions; he was stretched too thin like butter over bread, so overwhelmed by the Styx that he had nearly lost his sense of self. It was painful, gut wrenching, and utterly destroying, until he found that link to the surface. To this day, he still thanked his lucky stars (or his father) that he’d gotten to know Annabeth.

Otherwise, he’d have been another junk in the bottom of the Styx (and maybe haunt Nico in his afterlife).

This pain was sharp, violent, tasting vaguely like the cold bite of steel. Like being stabbed repeatedly _(Gaea? Hadn’t she stabbed him already? Can’t she stop, this is way too overkill_ ) in his vitals.

After the stab, there was a pulling sensation from the center of that pain, like his essence was drawn inwards to curl into himself, until it felt like he was squeezed too tight, all limbs and toes and ears tangling everywhere (he isn’t sure how his ears are supposed to tangle anywhere, but it felt like it). He felt like an overheated, overstuffed package. His skin was burning under the pressure, until the cold feel of iron was almost heavenly in his senses.

The burn then subsided, leaving him numb.

After the pain, and pressure, it was a welcoming feeling. He vaguely felt like wondering if it’s the end ( _how reckless, Gaea stabbed him, how is he not dead yet, howhowhowhow_ ) and was startled to realize he felt fine with that, and then angry that he felt fine with that.

He should really be helping his friends! They were counting on him to prevent the prophecy! Though if Gaea had stabbed him, then she must’ve been awakened…. All the more reason to stay alive! He’s no good to anyone dead, after all… except maybe if Nico would deign to summon him… but that’d be too much of a hassle in the middle of battle… oh well, he’ll just deal with searching for his dead half-siblings in wherever he ends up then, if he died.

But as it turns out it’s not his time yet (because he isn’t dead, and though it’s weird, it’s no weirder than three old hags weaving destiny like a Bigfoot-size sock).

Just when he thought he’d finally kicked the bucket ( _there’s that darkness… seriously who created this cliché crap?_ ) there was a sharp, sucking sensation behind his navel, like his soul was yanked back to… somewhere.

That somewhere turned out to be the living, because then his dimming (blacked out) vision registered Gaea’s earthy face, a few feet away from him, foaming at the mouth.

“Your intervention warrants our destruction, Master of Death!”

Ouch. Woman sure could shriek.

“Maa… it’s not like your actions didn’t imbalance the world already,” a vaguely familiar voice replied. It was stored somewhere in the back of Percy’s mind, like a stranger he’d met in strange circumstances. Where did he meet him again?

Unbidden, image of Alaskan ice mountain came to his mind.

Alcyoneus. Ice, ice cold biting wind. A stranger in black fluttering cloak.

Huh. That guy.

And then he remembered his descent to Tartarus (or more like, plummeting to certain death).

Holyshitcraphe’sanangelohmygodhiswings.

He squinted, and beyond the blurred lines he could make out no wings. So, is that thing retractable or what?

And then he berated himself mentally for contemplating something like that when there is a war starting just a few feet away from him.

But still… that guy sure could save them some trouble. Their first meeting ended with a ridiculously easy ridding of a giant, the second made Percy sure he was insane (because, now that he thought about it, Tartarus was rather distracted when they confronted him), and the third… the man was currently being a meat shield for Gaea’s incoming projectiles.

It looked like apocalypse rained down on earth. Or at least, raining meteors and quaking lands.

Gaea pulled back all the stops trying to hit the guy… futilely. Big chunks of rocks that looked like they were conjured out of nowhere sped towards him, but he danced out of the way and somersaulted above a particularly large one, making whooping sounds while doing so.

As Gaea’s rage animated the very lands, Percy wondered if it was at all possible for the situation to become more chaotic.

Famous last words, son of Poseidon.

 

* * *

 

Reyna surveyed the chaos below her (while avoiding stray missiles from various parties).

She was somewhat safer, riding Scipio, since none of the monsters that managed to hitch a ride to the surface world was airborne. However, it didn’t mean she was safe from the Rain of Chaos ™ Gaea summoned whenever that man irritated her too much.

That man.

Somehow, she had the feeling that the black-haired, British-accented man was the one Percy, Frank, and Hazel encountered during their quest to the godforsaken Alaska. He was clearly in his element, doing impossible acrobatic maneuvers and sending back Terra’s house-sized missiles with an extra touch of burn.

What bothered her the most was that she couldn’t identify him… as any deity known to mankind. He was clearly no Roman god—no self-respecting Roman god (and they all are) would _whoop_ in joy or make ridiculous gymnastic moves. And she was quite confident in her knowledge of their Greek counterparts… except if there was someone left out when the Greeks migrated to Rome.

A forgotten deity.

Or maybe he was just a lunatic, Reyna amended when the man sent a flock of rainbow-colored canaries ( _where, where did he get the canaries_ ) Terra’s way. To her surprise, the colorful little birds exploded like fireworks upon impacting with Terra’s missile chaos, and the flickering flares melted all rocks and earth under the fire shower.

It continued in that vein for a while; the Giga Boss, Terra, was distracted with the stranger magician ( _because what he did transcends laws of physics_ ) who, it seemed, kept up with Terra’s relentless attacks with his own cutting barbs because Terra was looking decidedly more hideous and furious with each passing comment.

And then there were meteors flying, and she saw Percy Jackson submerging half the battlefield under a ton of seawater.

She flew higher, and lost them.

 

* * *

 

This is getting irritating.

He batted away another power-packed energy jab from Gaea.

This has gone long enough.

He could just feel souls of dying demigods and monsters screaming obscenities as they were ripped from their mortal shells, and while personally he thought it a definite improvement from the limitations of a physical body, they didn’t have his power, nor his unique station in the world.

He should just think it as disciplining unruly children.

Now, how to do that…


End file.
